


In a Northern Sky

by Dannycangetitright



Category: God's Own Country (2017)
Genre: M/M, Running Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23089885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dannycangetitright/pseuds/Dannycangetitright
Summary: when you run away it's always easy to find what you need
Relationships: Gheorghe Ionescu/Johnny Saxby
Comments: 10
Kudos: 81





	In a Northern Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhhhhh so I have been having some major feelings over this film that was finally on netflix and i was able to cry over for hours at the cinematography and beauty of it. 
> 
> so i kinda got inspired to write. it's such a nice little world and even wonderful love story. my first foray into fandom writing after a hiatus. also i should note that this story is not edited/beta'd (that still a word we use?) by anyone else but me and so all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> AND! I am not in anyway or sorts from the UK and so if the writing is appalling with the word use i am very very sorry. please let me know what i can to improve in...Briticisms. i hope to expand from this story another one that im working on. but id' like to feel ideas before i do anything concrete.

There was a time, once before, where he made the decision to leave the farm. 

He was only six and somewhat of a trouble maker even at that age. His father hadn’t had the stroke back then, but John was pretty sure that day contributed to it. 

It was a random July morning, where he’d been quietly stuffing a blue tin lunchbox, shoving as much parkin cake and ham sandwiches he possibly could fit in it. 

Lanky and small, he’d found it easy to sneak past his main issue which was to escape the front door, opening it just a smidge before it hit that creak everyone could hear in the house. He slid out, having held his breath to really make do to not alert his Nan upstairs. He gently clasped the handle, closing it as quietly as he ever could, letting out a breath of relief once the door was locked in place. 

There wasn’t much left now to do but walk, making the few steps down his farm towards the dirt trodden main path. 

There was no real reason for the trip, he had remembered and was at a loss to find any reason. Nothing concrete. No address he found on a paper or some kind of picturesque destination he was thinking about. He just wanted out. Maybe for a reprieve to a childhood that seemed like the one he saw sometimes on the telly: where children only worried about what they were having for dinner or losing their favourite toys. 

He continued with a vigor one would feel when they accomplished a goal and just wanted to continue the feeling as long as they could. So with his precautionary rain boots on and raincoat (unusual attire for such a clear sky day) he set off with a kick in his step. 

The road became less steep, making walking easier in his galoshes. John didn’t know how long he had walked, but it was long enough for his legs to get sore. 

The scenery around him changed drastically from open fields to brick layered fences with moss, leading down to bustling townscape with vines and greenery that looked intentional rather than decrepit looking. 

Lucky enough there didn’t seem to be any cars passing by, and he got to where he wanted to fairly unnoticed, a useful perk living in such a small town. Not like anyone really bothered making their way up hill to the farm often. 

But he realized slowly that once he got to the main town he wasn’t sure of where to take his next step. His feet hurt from all the walking, with his boots looking damaged and worn like he’d been hiking for years with them.

He took to a random sidewalk, taking to blend around unnoticed as long as he looked like he wasn’t there to cause trouble. He passed by stalls and stores he’d been by with his Dad before, remembering them brimming with pastries and other delicacies his father told him they couldn’t afford to dwell on. He paid them only a small mind, taking them in, but never long enough to look like he was loitering. 

A full hit of wind passed by, catching his attention when he saw the cherry red bus blur by, it was something he’d only seen in books or the telly. He was curious, he’d always wanted to ride on one, get on the top floor and enjoy the view as some kind of giant. The need to chase it became apparent, his feet felt like they were moving on his own, to find where it would stop next. He paused for a just a moment, wondering how he’d even get on it without any money. He didn’t have any to spare. Kids like him weren’t granted that privilege of pocket money. 

But maybe if he found a way to get on it, he wouldn’t have to walk so much to find somewhere else other than where he was before. His feet moved then, rationale gone as he chased the bus like it was some kind of life line. 

When he entered the station, his eyes immediately rested on a shoddy monitor, displaying time stamps and arrivals, but not really understanding when they would arrive since he couldn’t understand an analog clock just yet. He walked the station, trying to find any destination that would seem alright to him. 

Leeds. Sheffield. York. Manchester. Nothing about them made him spark with an idea or a feeling to go. He felt uninspired by it. No memory or recollection from when he was younger to go on from. 

There were comments and looks, from parents and adults, not too long of a look, and mostly by mothers herding their own children off to somewhere only he could imagine was funner than being on a farm in the summer. 

He was beginning to look suspicious he knew that. He was loitering around mucking up the place with his boots and attire. He looked like he didn’t belong at all here. 

Two men in yellow vests happened to be walking out the door he came from, talking on a radio system attached to their vests, purveying their surroundings with an eye of laziness from what he was able to tell. They skimmed over him a couple of times before they blinked in surprise. 

He tried his best to not look directly at them, to play it dumb. He’d been hoping everyone would just ignore him like everyone usually did. 

After a certain amount of time they deemed to be the most appropriate to worry over a lone child had passed, they took the slow stride towards him, liking him to some kind of animal they weren’t meant to frighten. 

One of the officers coughed, a signal to get his attention. “Hey lad, mind telling me where your folks are?” 

Knowing he was six, and completely aware he was being a little shite had answered the typical question that follows when a child is asked that by a total stranger. He hated them for ruining everything. 

They laughed awkwardly. “Bit of a stoddy lad I see.” They took on the next question after raising eyebrows with one another, feeling like they had to continue, and not bothering to see if pestering him was going to be the best tactic. 

He relented the same answer, with an even worse scowl to follow suit. 

One of the officers leaned closer, the one with the balding head and patchy brown spots on it. “Listen here you little,” the officer growled before composing himself again. He cleared his throat before speaking again, “you got no right in tellin us off like that. Were’ police just looking out for ya, see the cap? Legit stuff and everythin’.”

He’d relented to screaming but he wasn’t in the mood to have all eyes on him. He just wanted to leave, find his way out and be off and away from his shitty little hell hole of a farm where everything smelled of sheep shite and cow dung. But he didn’t say anything of that sort and stayed stoned faced as both officers stood up, sighing and watching as one of them muttered a code into his speaker mic. 

They didn’t move him, but they hadn’t left him either. They posted themselves a few seats away from him, eyes locked on him in case he decided to run for it. He had wanted to flee, run out and see if he could out maneuver them. But he knew he’d barely have time to outrun two grown men in a place he wasn’t even that familiar with. 

He’d been caught already and he’d known he’d be dealing with his dad soon enough. 

When his father's face landed on him, he had been comically mad, with his cheeks and countenance painted red with beet juice.. His nan had followed just a few steps behind, but John had been able to see her face as well, flushed with relief and painting away the grey sullen look she had. 

He was hoisted up by his dad's hand, pinching his ear tight right after he gave him a solid clap to the head. 

“You apologize to your nan now Johnathan Saxby. You nearly gave the poor woman a heart attack this morning.” 

Without making eye contact, because he couldn’t bare to look at her sullen face, admitted to 

He remembers how glum he was. Not really showing any signs of regret but nonetheless hugging his nan as she came over, her face a mix of relief and visible reprimand. He went mute, like one would when scolded by everyone around him. Only his nan was quiet, her gentle hands on his shoulders as much a reminder for her that he was physically there and that feeling of relief bled out to him, making him feel like he was wanted on the farm. 

He knew to some extent, as he got older, that he was just acting out like a child. There wasn’t any reason to look further into reasons, much like his father had done, best of him to just get on with it like the lot of them usually did. But his nan was always keener than people would give her credit. She had held his hands, quiet and unbidden as she' strapped him into the carseat. For once it was quiet, no sounds except the gravel road being crushed by the weight of the car’s tire. 

He remembers that moment, how it didn’t change much overall for the life on the farm. But the outlook was different that day. It made the idea of being trapped in the farm apparent, something that felt like life was limited to this small farm in the moors of Yorkshire.

Life until now. 

The hill top farm was quiet now. Peaceful in fact. It was a small reprieve of a few moments until he had to get up. Morning light was wasting the longer he stewed in bed. But the heat coming from the bed was tempting, and what even more was the body saddled along the other side, the blanket half strewn over the naked body, something the foreign man like to do more often as time passed together while they continued to share the same bed. 

It was a temptation. A luxury and a curse, the pure warmth this man gave to him. It was always chilly this time of the year, but often he found himself warmer and complaining less about the cold now. Often if he did complain, he’d end up having those warm hands clinging to his skin like they were offering his heat to him. 

It was nice to be the one to wake up early for once. He watched, his eyes adjusting to the low light and seeing the outline of bunched curly hair and fine olive skin. John didn’t have long to rove his eyes over this moment, usually sussed out by the man himself after only a few moments. 

And just like clockwork his eyes twitched, just the tiniest bit of motion, but perceptible to someone who was used to this morning routine. 

“You’re so loud.” 

“Loud?” John questioned, his eyebrows going up. 

“Yes.” the man said, tone grave. “Very. I can hear you looking at me. It’s creepy.” 

John raised his eyebrows, mouth turning into a comical grimace. “That supposed to be some kind of... Romanian expression?” 

“No,” was the curt response as it groaned and stretched out, his hands reaching out to John’s fairer skin, the contrast showing whenever they touched. But he revels in the touch, always has, even since the beginning and till now. There was the absence he remembers too, the feeling of not having this, of almost missing out on this warmth. That this peaceful, early morning was something he always should remember was a fickle flame. 

The coach ride back was only just a few weeks ago, and already the rhythm of the day felt different from the start of the month. The mornings weren’t in self-doubt and early numbing routine. This was a life, a reason to wake up and finally feel like every day mattered. He needed this, had needed this man from the very beginning. 

John Saxby would only be fooling himself if he ever thought otherwise. 

He remembers that conversation back at the yard that day. When he first headed to Scotland to find him, having gone as far out as he needed to get his answer and to just seem him even if it would be for the last time. 

There was the stand off, of him almost being a complete fuck-up again, and just about to leave without saying his piece in the end. He found the courage eventually, found it and faced it when his back was cornered with how stoic and cold Gheorghe had been. He needed that push, to feel like he was losing everything to gain the courage to ask for everything again with him. John wasn’t a hopeful man, but still always one with a plan, and still never expecting it to work out as he had planned it to. 

But in this bed, at this moment, his wayward plan had far more than just worked out. It succeeded. This was everything and more than he asked for. But John knew this wouldn't be the last hurdle. He was a Saxby after all, and Saxby’s always dealt with hardship as often as it was cloudy in Yorkshire.

For now, they could enjoy it. He knew he wouldn’t have to face them all alone now. He could share the burden. His fingers pressed tightly around the warm, soft, plump hands, with him running slow circles along calluses on the pads, feeling the complete opposite to his own dry and spindly hands. He kissed gingerly along the digits, his kisses a soft reminder of gentleness he could possess now. 

“Are you trying to eat my fingers?” the man asked, his deadpan voice not at all hiding the sarcasm John could decipher. 

John laughed, his cackle growing more maniacal as he tightened his grip and pulled his hands closer. “Maybe I am,” John responded as he wrapped his hands around the expanse of skin he was free to touch and explore now. 

“I don’t know about you but I need my fingers for work. And for other stuff,” Gheorghe added, thoughtfully. 

John nodded, his face growing appreciative. “These hands are quite talented. Want to show me what they’re capable of exactly?” 

The man gruffed, but enough sunlight was spilling for John to see the sheepish smile on him. “We’re not doing that this morning. No time. We’ve wasted enough as it is.” 

“Aye. Hate when you’re right.” 

Gheorghe hummed as he pulled the blanket over, signaling the day was starting for them. They got dressed together, a routine that he was beginning to find quite enjoyable not just for the eye candy but the domesticity of it all. Gheorghe doesn’t bat an eye to the red sweater John still wears and John doesn’t say anything to him using his black sports sweater he’s taking a liking to wearing as well. He did take his so it’s only fair. A silent trade John would be thankful for. 

When they made their way down the stairs, Nan’s been up and about now, having got a full plate of sausage, toast and scrambled eggs. She greets them with a smile as she finishes setting up the rest of breakfast. She’s forgone plating things for them as both of them just end up grabbing the meal in a sloppy mess of a sandwich. Saves her the need to nag at them for cleaning up. 

They both grab their coats and head out the door together. Together. It wasn’t just him anymore. 

He held his hand out, a small gesture that would only last a few moments before they had to head off to different areas of the farm to do work. 

A soft touch, but a promise to come back when the day’s light would come down. They had a growing fondness of meeting up on sunset, watching a day end together, something they could only share together. It was nice, something that grounded John and made him happier than ever. 

So the next few words coming out of him were not at all unnatural. 

The surprise on the other man's face seemed caught off guard. But Gheorghe calmed his features. His face mellowing out to a rueful smile as he spoke. “Te iubesc.” 

His brows furrowed a bit. “Hey, what’s that mean?” John called out as he walked backwards to look at Gheorghe still standing on his spot by the fence. 

“You should already know.” 

“Aye. Bit of clarity would be nice.” 

“It would have been nice as well when it’s not the morning. When both of us have to work all day apart.” 

“Felt right. No controlling it. Get a’gate now none of that whining.” 

Gheorghe chuckled slightly, keeping his eyes on John as he nodded, smiling as he spoke again, this time repeating the words he told him just a few moments ago. 

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from a song by Fossil Collective


End file.
